‘She Said I’ve Reached Another Adolescent Monsoon’

On Monday, I had the great pleasure of having a tooth extracted. It was a surgical extraction, although it wasn’t really that bad except it had been postponed several hours and I was tired and hungry and the procedure’s cost bankrupted my checking account.

I got shot up with a very large needle of novocaine and had to listen to some extremely unpleasant crunching sounds as the doctor prodded my mouth with a drill and forceps, and there was bleeding and several gauze pads and some extra-strength ibuprofen, but it didn’t hurt at all, not during surgery or afterwards.

In fact, the bottle of Vicodin on my desk is still full. I’ve been popping generic brand ibuprofens like crazy, but mostly just for the soreness and swelling.

There were a few moments during the procedure when I thought, “Oh god, that was the drill; this is going to fucking hurt,” but they were fleeting and I quickly realized I was fine: it wasn’t really pain, just some uncomfortable pressure.

It’s hard to distinguish the two, sometimes.
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I’m Teething

Oh, LOOK WHAT I HAVE.

I was really hoping I’d be one of those highly-evolved genetic mutants who never get their wisdom teeth, but I guess now I can at least look forward to popping some heavy duty painkillers.

UPDATE: OH! And the doctor just told me that the molar which is bothering me (tooth number 32, in case you were wondering) could be really close to the lingual nerve (it’s impossible to tell from a 2D x-ray), so whoever extracts them will need to “really knows what they’re doing.” GREAT!!!

This indecision’s bugging me

So I’ve been planning this little post-graduation backpacking excursion to Japan for a while now (and by “planning,” I really mean hemming and hawing and growing quite attached to the couple of thousand dollars I’ve supposedly set aside for it).

It’s now time to book my flight, and I’m panicked with anxiety over whether I should risk forfeiting any possible May/June employment prospects by running off to Japan for a month.

So, since popular vote is obviously the only sensible way to decide matters of great import, I’m going to solicit the Internet’s advice (with the caveat that I am not necessarily promising I’ll adhere to it).

Also, while determining whether I should postpone what could quite literally be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the vague possibility of secure and comfortable employment (ha!), remember that I’m a journalism major (double ha!).

So, as Mick Jones (or Rivers Cuomo, apparently) would say: should I stay or should I go?

PS — This is, largely, rhetorical, but some encouragement would sure make dropping $900+ on a nonrefundable plane ticket a lot easier.

How I Finally Learned Something From Emily Gould

For a long time, I detested Emily Gould’s New York Times Magazine story, “Exposed”. I thought it was an overlong, self-indulgent, too insidery, navel-gazing piece of crap that was completely inappropriate for the Times.

But since I started interning at Gawker (which I’d read throughout Emily’s tenure as its editor), I’ve developed a kind of meta-obsession with Gawker itself. So I went on a little nostalgia kick and started reading old posts, studying the former editors’ work, and voyeuristically devouring the sordid drama of Nick Denton’s twisted little media/sociology experiment. Especially circa 2007. Those kids were nuts.

At the same time, I was preparing to turn this blog into more than just a portfolio of my work. I was ready to move beyond the banalities of the LiveJournal I’d kept in high school (Ha!) and commit myself to some serious personal blogging. (Double ha!)

So as I re-read Emily’s piece, I started to view her story in a different light. A more forgiving light. And somehow, it began to resonate with me. I had begun appreciate it on some small level, for reasons I did not yet fully know.

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How to Not Be a Dick in 3 Easy Steps!

I am, for the most part, done with this subject. But in addition to the professional “consequences,” my little experiment in confessional-style Internet commentary had some (unexpected) personal ramifications, too. In other words, there are certain people (former friends, I suppose?) at WSN who take things too personally. This is mildly relevant, but only as setup. So keep it in mind, or something.

Anyway, if you happened to be in the second floor computer lounge of NYU’s Kimmel Center this afternoon, you may have witnessed the (pretty common) scene of me, cursing loudly at the expense of my friend’s certain embarrassment. At least two students noticed: a pair of dark-haired girls in NYU sweatshirts, giggling awkwardly at each other over their laptops and trying not to stare.

Such instances are not unordinary with me. You might think it’s a bad, or even rude, habit to so eagerly (and vocally) call people out on their bullshit. And you’re probably right, but that’s another issue altogether. The point is: I do this a lot, and often to the chagrin of whichever unlucky friends are with me at the time.

But it is unusual for the humiliated bystander to become my victim. That’s what happened today.

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